SoulCrossed
by LMS
Summary: Spike has been missing for a year. Buffy looked everywhere. With no hope and in utter desperation, the slayer tries one last place, her last hope. Will her search finally end on the darkest night of her life? Or will it be too late? Complete
1. One Last Hope

Soul-Crossed  


  
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This fic is set at the end of season 6. For the sake of my story, the season ends when Spike leaves on his motorcycle. Warren never showed up, Tara was never shot, Willow never went evil. Spike has been gone for a year and Buffy, desperate to get him back, goes to a church and lights a candle for him. This story takes place on that night, exactly one year after Spike left Sunnydale.  
  
****************************************************************************** **Title: **Soul-Crossed  
**Author:** LMS  
**Pairing:** Buffy/Spike  
**Rating: **PG  
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Buffy walked into the church and stopped next to the basin of holy water. The slayer had never really entered a church except to fill up on holy water or to kill some big bad. She had no religion, had no belief, no reason to set foot in a church. Today was a different day. Tonight was a different night.  
  
The slayer looked at her reflection in the purified water. There was no emotion on her face. A tear spilled down her cheek, but her face did not reflect any emotion at all. Her eyes were tired, old. Her hair was perfect even after a previous bout with a vampire. Her face was pale with slight remnants of color in her cheeks and lips. No emotion was evident, no clues to give away what was going on inside her. No one could ever know. No one except him.  
  
Slowly Buffy dipped her hand into the basin and cupped her hand, drawing some water. She stared at the water for some time before letting it slip through her fingers back into the tiny pool. Droplets of water clung to her fingers, hanging for a moment before silently slipping away. It was as if they were holding onto her, clinging desperately in an effort to save themselves from the inevitable. Slowly, however, they slipped away, falling back into the pool waiting below to reclaim its own. The droplets immediately conformed back to what they were meant to be, no longer their own being, no longer able to be what they wanted to be.  
  
Buffy moved her eyes to take in the front of the church. The sanctuary was dark except for moonlight streaming in from the open door and a few lit candles scattered around the room. In the front sat a large table covered in white cloth and many tiny glass jars holding small white candles, none of which had yet been lit. Behind the table stood a magnificent cross glowing in the bluish moonlight and orange candlelight. It looked as if it were almost floating in the dim light.  
  
Slowly the slayer walked to the front and knelt before the unlit candles. There were a few long, thin sticks lying in front of a larger white candle burning next to the rows of glass and white. Buffy took one of the sticks and held it in the flame, watching the flame flicker and grow larger before returning back to its original size. She pulled the now burning stick from the flame and gently dipped it into a glass jar, lighting the ivory candle within.  
  
Another tear fell as Buffy blew out the stick. It had been exactly one year today that he had come to her bathroom and tried to force her to love him. She remembered seeing the utter desperation in his eyes, the pain, the hurt that had been her causing. She had seen the complete devastation and total frustration in his blue eyes and it had terrified her. It scared her more than him tearing at her robe, trying to strip away the only dignity she felt she had left. She knew then that it had not been her that had stopped him, it had been himself. He had stopped himself from taking away from her everything he had worked so hard, and so long, to give her. Safety and love.  
  
Buffy stared at the single flame fighting against the darkness that surrounded it. No matter how many tiny flames fought with the one, the darkness would still be forever greater. Alone, each flame could only spread a tiny bit of light into the consuming darkness, no matter how hard it burned. Like a slayer. Like her.  
  
More tears fell and Buffy wondered if a prayer could help a lost, soulless, demon. She wondered if her candle, her flame, would burn until her vampire was found and brought back to her, the slayer. Each tiny white candle stood for one soul. When a soul was lost, it's candle would be lit in hopes it would light the way home for it's lost soul. Now a candle was lit for someone she missed, someone who was lost, someone she had lost. Would it work for someone without a soul? Would it lead them to their soul? Would it lead him back to her?  
  
The slayer looked up at the cross, the last bit of hope she had, her lips quivering with her own desperation. Please find him, her voice broke into the soft silence, echoing in the darkness and the flame. Find him please! The sobs began to break through. Bring him back. I need him, please! Tears flooded her eyes, glistened in the fading light. I can't live without him! She broke down into heavy sobs. The slayer had come searching, looking for a way to find her star-crossed lover, looking for an answer to her pain. She had searched everywhere and found nothing. With almost no hope left, she had come here, the one place that she had never needed to be. This was the last place to search. This was her last hope.  
  
The single flame beat against the darkness. It was searching, calling for its lost soul. It fought to keep the darkness from swallowing him. It flickered, reached out into the closing darkness to find her answer, her lost soul. Their soul. One candle went out. Hers burned on. Another flame was defeated. Hers fought on. Yet another flame was quenched by the ever growing night. Hers lived on. It stretched, tried to make itself bigger in the depths of her desperation. Her flame burned ferociously, searching, calling. He had to be found, his soul had to be saved, had to be brought back from eternal death. For without it, a love would be lost. Without it, she would die.  
  
TBC


	2. Forged In Darkness

1 year ago...  
  
He ran. The darkness swallowed him, covered his flesh, his bones. He took comfort in it, bathed in it. For a moment he felt cradled by the darkness, at home in it. It felt good. Then he remembered her. She was his home now. She was where he belonged. _No!_ He didn't belong with her! He was a demon--a monster! She was an angel. They came from opposite sides of a never-ending war. It was a bloodbath and he swam in it. She fought the currents, she fought only to save a world that would never accept her. An angel.  
  
He was of the darkness. She was of the light.  
  
The wind stung his face, blew wickedly through his hair. His cheeks were wet but there was no rain. The dark of the night was his sanctuary and he took solace in its solitude. The roar of the motorcycle was the only sound within his asylum's walls. It was a comforting sound, the sound of power and freedom.  
  
Except, this time there was no power, was no freedom.  
  
He no longer belonged to the darkness, in the darkness. It used to be his home, his escape when the light came and threatened to destroy him. When the light came, he went home-- hid!--curled up away from the evanescent glow of that which preyed upon evil. Now the light was threatening to destroy him again. This time he could not flee into the darkness and take refuge in its chancel. The darkness was ashamed of him. He had turned his back on his teachings and performed the unthinkable--he had stepped into the light!  
  
Oh woe was him! He had stepped into the light and surrendered to its will. However, it had accepted him as the day accepts the morning, and the night accepts the evening. As the morning and evening are neither of the day nor the night, neither was he of the darkness nor of the light. For mere moments he was admitted to the light so he may serve his purpose. He was like the morning and evening, each allowed its part in time's cycle only for the purpose of the rising and setting of the sun. Then each is dismissed, overrun by the enormity of the day and the night. He too was overrun, by the war between good and evil. He was a pawn, used to each side's furthest advantage, then tossed aside and forgotten.  
  
But she wasn't like them. She had accepted him into the light, had fought along side him, all the while speaking of the good he could do.  
  
Two glowing dots surfaced in the sea of black. Slowly they grew and grew, coming at him, toward him. They bore into his innermost thoughts, stealing his concentration. With a sound of the rushing wind, they were gone and he was left alone to his thoughts once more.  
  
She was like him  
  
She had once been of the light. She had felt its comfort and its security. But then he had come, his true unabashed self had pulled her from the light and given her a taste of the darkness. The light shunned her, leaving her only to her purpose. The light would never really dismiss her, for she was created only for the light and would always stay loyal to the light. She was made of the light. It would always take care of her, its child.  
  
However, because of him, she had tasted the darkness and enjoyed its ravishing of her. She had taken pleasure in it. An angel with a demon. Forbidden! Therefore, the light had shunned her. Now she stood as he did. Both in the middle, neither of the light nor the darkness.  
  
It was his fault.  
  
A pain tore at his unbeating heart and more tears flooded his countenance. He would make it right! She would no longer suffer because of his selfishness, his mundane efforts to obtain that which was not his to have.   
  
Her.  
  
He loved her! God, he loved her!  
  
He wanted her!  
  
She did not deserve him.   
  
He would make it right. He would go to the light and force them to give her what she deserved!  
  
Even if it meant he would die.  
  
TBC


	3. Soul Crossed

1 year later, back at the church...  
  
Buffy stared into the flickering flame and wept. _Find him!_ She pleaded to no one in particular. She had always believed in the forces of good and evil, how could she not? However, she had never really understood who the leader, the king' of good was. From what she could tell, The First was the ruler of evil. The way it commanded its followers and took charge over obedience, it was obviously the real Big Bad. But who was the ruler of all good, the Great Good? God? The Powers That Be? A god like Glory...only good?  
  
Whoever it was, the highest power of good, the slayer was calling to them. She was desperate now! Before she had always counted on her watcher and friends to help her solve problems and defeat evil. This time she was on her own. Nobody could help her.  
  
Sobs wracked her body and there was such a pain in her chest that she wanted to die. It would be the only way to make the pain stop. Her heart felt as if it were being pulled apart--ripped into two! She remembered all the things she should have said, all the things she should have done.   
  
Then she remembered the things she had said and done.  
  
The pain grew.  
  
What do you want from me?! She screamed at the cross. Her shoulders slumped in hopeless surrender.  
  
She felt weak. Never had she felt so without strength. She was a vampire slayer--blessed with extra strength and powers to defeat her foes! Yet she couldn't even stand. Her head ached and her eyes burned from her raging tears. She could see only a little, and what she did see was but a blur of color. The color was quickly fading.  
  
She breathed in and it made her feel sick. Her stomach convulsed and she felt like she was going to vomit. Her lungs ached for air and it made her feel even worse. Her ears were ringing, even in the silence, and her head pounded to an unheard rhythm. Every muscle in her body now ached from the strain of her sobs.  
  
She could not take it anymore. Her body was giving up on her. It had taken too much and now it needed a rest. She wanted to sleep forever. Her eyes were heavy and she let her upper body lower itself, her head gently laying itself on the polished wood floor.  
  
It was cold.  
  
So cold.  
  
The slayer felt herself slipping away. She closed her eyes and waited for the end to come. On any other night she would have cared that she could no longer stand. On any other night she would have asked why her body was giving up on her. But tonight was not any other night. Tonight, she didn't care. She was just glad that it would be over soon. The pain would be gone forever...again.  
  
Silently she wished that her friends would let her lie this time. Peace swept over her for an instant as she remembered the presence magic at her death in order to be raised again. This time, there was no magic--at least not the kind that would rush her to her death. This magic had kept her alive for so long.  
  
She loved him.  
  
The slayer's body shuddered as the last sobs left her. She did not know that she lay dying of a broken heart on the cold floor of a church. Neither did she know that her next breath would be her last. She only knew the pain would finally be gone.  
  
*******  
  
He stood in silence and watched her. She was so beautiful! His sweet Goldilocks. Her long, soft hair...she smelled like fresh picked berries. Those sparkling eyes...so full of life when she felt loved and protected. Those lips, oh those lips! So sensuous and smooth. Those lips gave him life!  
  
He watched her now. She moved so gracefully. She was kneeling in front of the candles under the cross. His angel. She was lighting a candle. For someone? For him? No. She could never do that for him. He was evil. He was a monster. She had lost somebody close to her. The witch? The carpenter? _Oh, god! Not the li'l bit!_ Maybe the watcher--oh no! Was there another Big Bad in town? _What did I miss? I should have been here. It's all my fault!_  
  
Guilt ripped him once again. His breath left him and he began to feel dizzy. He steadied himself with another look at her. She was so beautiful, but so sad, and it was because of him.  
  
Please find him!  
  
He jumped as her words echoed through the fog of silence. In seconds the silence found itself again, merged together like nothing had disrupted its smooth pattern. A fog.  
  
Find him please! Bring him back. I need him--please!  
  
  
Her voice started him again, struck his heart like a knife.   
  
I can't live without him.  
  
Her voice so full of pain and desperation--he gave that to her, he knew.  
  
He watched her cry.  
  
Her sobs rang throughout the still sanctuary. His heart, though dead and unbeating, felt as though someone had taken in it in the palms of their hands and squeezed every drop of blood out of it. Though he could not see it, he knew her angelic face was now soaked in her salty tears. How he longed to comfort her!  
  
_No. Please don't cry--I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!_  
  
He knew his thoughts could not save her. He wanted to run to her, to hold her gently in his arms, to love her. But he was too evil to be with her. He would not do that to her...not again.  
  
She missed him.  
  
On any other night, he would have delighted himself in that very thought. But tonight was no other night. Tonight he knew he was evil and she did not deserve the pain of missing something so evil--so unworthy.  
  
He felt weak. He fell to his knees as her pain ravished him, scorched him to the very essence of his being. His evil being.  
  
he whispered, finally unable to control the body jarring sobs and the torrent of tears hiding within him.  
  
He broke.  
  
  
He watched through his tears as she slowly gave up hope and let herself fall to the cold floor. She was dying. Dying of a broken heart that he gave her. She was falling into a darkness more desolate than his own.  
  
It was a desperate whimper passed his lips, he managed from the pit of his empty stomach.  
  
He heard her last breath.  
  
Silence.  
  
Death.  
  
_What have I done? What--have--I--done?!  
  
_ he cried out at the empty pews. Buffy--oh god--Buffy! _What have I done?_ His head hurt, oh how it hurt!  
  
Silence.  
  
His scream filled the silence, echoed throughout the night, searching for a stronghold to carry it away from the death and the solitude.   
  
He wept.  
  
He couldn't breathe. He gasped for air but it would not come. The tears would not stop. His gut was wrenched from the gasping sobs.  
  
Help her, he sobbed, pleading at the cross towering above his angel. He forced himself to stand and face the cross, to face every last bit of courage he had left inside of him. HELP HER!!!  
  
It was a demand.  
  
Suddenly, a strong wind darted through the open doors behind him and fled toward the cross. The candles' miniature flames were snuffed out, leaving tiny, swirling strings of smoke. Darkness took over the sanctuary, giving it a cold and lonely feel. The wind howled up into the rafters, calling for something...or someone. Dust showered down upon vampire and slayer, sparkling in the small flecks of moonlight appearing through the door. Song books that had been neatly arrayed on the pews or inside the small wooden pouches built in back were now scattered over each other and the floor. A picture of the Holy Mother and a baby fell to the floor with a shattering of glass. The walls rattled and threatened to come away from their post and crash into the center. The earth began to shudder and quake. Then as sudden as it has began, it stopped.  
  
Silence.  
  
***  
  
She opened her eyes.  
  
Slowly the slayer rose, to her knees then to her feet. The cross stared down at her with a blackened expression. She wanted desperately to shout at it and force it to turn away, but it would not. She had heard him. Was he talking to her in his dreams?  
  
She was abruptly aware of a presence far greater than her own. Suddenly a bright light filled the open expanse of the darkened asylum. The brightness of the light stung her eyes forcing them to close. Quickly she turned away from the light--away from the cross. Her eyes opened on command.  
  
She stared.  
  
_Spike!_  
  
He stood clothed all in black, his duster blowing behind him in a breeze she did not feel. His hair moved too and his eyes sparkled in the light.  
  
The light.  
  
It was him!  
  
He glowed with a blinding radiance! A bright light swirled around him, cradled him, was seeping out from him.  
  
Was it white? Was it yellow?  
  
She couldn't tell! Too bright!  
  
She didn't care!  
  
  
  
Buffy ran to him, her prince of darkness--only he wasn't of darkness! He was of light--he _was_ light!  
  
The world began to spin, but he caught her. He always did. He was her prince--her saviour. He caught her in his strong arms and buried himself in her warmth and smell. She wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could so he could never leave her again! She would not let him. Not again.  
  
No more did she need death. He was her life and he had returned.  
  
She was finally in her haven.  
  
Slayer and vampire collapsed in each other's embrace, fell to their knees sobbing into each other's shoulder.   
  
I love you, Spike.  
  
I'm so sorry, Buffy.  
  
Without another blessed breath, their lips met in a passionate caress. Neither lover noticed the light slowly surrounding them, shooting from them, nor did they notice the path the light took from their deep love into the clear, starlit sky above them. Two new stars began to twinkle overhead, brighter than any other stars in any other galaxy.  
  
At the front of the church sat a large table covered in white cloth and many tiny glass jars of precious, ivory waxed columns, only one of which still stood resplendent in its tiny orange flame. Behind the table stood a magnificent cross glowing in the bluish moonlight, orange candlelight, and white light of Heaven. It was floating.  
  
The candle watched. It saw the two lovers find each other again. It was a miracle. Their miracle. The tiny flame grew a little, the candle seeming to smile. Its lost soul had finally been pulled from the darkness and brought into the light. It had been found by an angel. Now the flame could finally rest as it was no longer needed to light the way home. Its soul was home. With a final stretch and a flicker, the tiny orange flame winked out.  
  
  
The End


End file.
